


You Know It Don't Come Easy

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Relationship, Bromance, Friendship/Love, Other, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody knows why Rodimus befriended Drift of all mechanisms.  And nobody knows about the private races held on the outskirts of Nyon.  Races with only two competitors:  Hot Rod and Deadlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know It Don't Come Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schwapocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwapocalypse/gifts).



> This fic’s for my friend who said they’d like to see some aromantic, asexual Drift. I personally see Drift and Rodimus having a very close relationship that doesn’t center around either romance or sex, and so although most of my other stories have both those elements, this one’s got no sex, no romo, and is about a very strong relationship. I think their friendship with one another is a huge factor in both their lives and I wanted to explore my idea of where that relationship came from. 
> 
> I consider this story in the same timeline as Mend What is Broken and Contingency Procedures. If you want pure aro/ace, disregard those, it stands on its own as well.
> 
> This story was originally named after the song “Road of the Gypsy”, sung by Adrenalin and featuring in my favourite bad movie, “Iron Eagle.” Even though this story isn't about actual Rroma people, it's been brought to my attention that even using the "G" word to describe a (non-Rroma) lifestyle can be problematic, so in the interests of not offending any of my readers I've changed the title to a different verse of the song. If you can forgive a 30-year old song for its use of the G word, I recommend you cue it up on Youtube and enjoy.

Hot Rod had always loved racing. His earliest memory was not of his robot form, but of being in his alt mode, just like this. In that memory, as in reality, he was running flat out on an open road, racing for glory. Wherever he’d been going had been a far distant second to the experience of driving; and today he was going nowhere in particular, knowing only that he wanted to drive. He could not imagine his life without four fast wheels and an aerodynamic frame, with the open road ahead of him and his worries in the dust.

These days, though, Hot Rod occasionally found himself starting to wonder if he drove so fast because he wanted to attain something just out of his grasp. Did he really love the act of racing itself more than anything, or was he pushing his engine to its limits and beyond in the hopes of staying ahead of some dark cloud that seemed to swallow up the road behind? If he stopped, or even slowed down, that blackness that he felt looming just over the horizon might overtake him, and if it caught him…oh, what then?

Hot Rod did not have the self-awareness to put a name to that terrifying and formless dread. If he did, though, he might realize that the sensation of looming destruction had entered his life on a day that still lived in infamy, and that it haunted his dreams during recharge. 

He’d had a nightmare again the last time he rested, and as always his worst dreams were variations on a theme: often superficially different, but all, at their heart, the same. All of them took him back to Nyon.

If Hot Rod were more prone to introspection, perhaps he would have puzzled out the true nature of the impulses that drove him to race, ever faster, down this treacherous and winding road in the badlands that once were part of Nyon’s outlying districts. Perhaps he could have come to understand why, no matter where on Cybertron he went, he inevitably found himself coming back here to race the wind. The wind and the ghosts.

Perhaps he could have seen his need to be a hero for what it truly was: an attempt to cope with the aftermath of Nyon, and to come to terms with his role in what had happened there.

Heroes, like Optimus Prime, made hard choices. That was to be expected. And Optimus Prime was a role model for everyone.

Heroes were lauded.

Heroes were not blamed.

Heroes did not lie awake on their circuit slabs, staring into the darkness behind their own unlit optics, wondering whether they’d made the right choices.

If Hot Rod had waited just a little longer, maybe Optimus or Prowl or…or someone…would have found a way to spare the citizens of Nyon. If Hot Rod had been smarter, perhaps he could have thought of another solution, or evacuated the city in time. If Hot Rod had been bolder, perhaps he would have done something himself about Zeta Prime…or about Megatron. 

Without Megatron and the Decepticons, none of this would have happened.

But it had happened, and Hot Rod had made the hard choice. Nyon had burned, killing most of its citizens, denying Zeta his superweapon, and Hot Rod had been the one to set off the explosives. Now Hot Rod had another choice to make.

He could be a hero.

Or he could be a mass murderer.

It would be so easy, after all, to look at the ruins of Nyon off in the distance and say its destruction didn’t matter, that _nothing_ mattered. He could rage against oblivion with fire and shattered sparks. He could rain down vengeance on those damned Decepticons who had caused this bloody war, and he could kill until he stood neck-deep in corpses. He could feel that dark ember simmering in his spark, a well of untapped potential.

Or he could be a hero.

And so he drove, wrapping himself in a dream, hiding his fears under the mantle of his hard-won reputation: Autobot hothead, eternal optimist, the guy you called for the crazy jobs that nobody else would touch. Pushing the limits, driving himself to the extreme, he almost became a different person from the mech who fled from the pain and hatred in his own spark. Almost, but not quite, for no matter where he went or what he did, he carried those feelings around with him.

And on days like these, those feelings brought him back to Nyon’s outlying districts, to race the ghosts in his mind.

Hot Rod drove, and though he was not a reflective thinker by nature, the occasional random brain impulse flickered through his consciousness. His wheels beat out a syncopated rhythm as they bumped over the uneven grooves in the road, the runnels formed by centuries of acid rain, and it seemed as though the sound formed words: _a killer or a hero, a killer or a hero…_

His wheels went round and round as the thought went round and round in his brain and…

Someone else’s bumper slid in front of Hot Rod’s front fender. 

… _a killer or a hero…_

The vehicle ahead flashed its brake lights.

The flare of illumination startled Hot Rod out of his trance. He slammed on his own brakes, tires locking, rubber squealing, yelling curses at the white and grey car in front of him.

Taunting laughter came back in a cloud of dust.

The guy didn’t even slow down. Irritated, Hot Rod peeled out in pursuit. No sooner did the other mech realize he was being chased then he stepped on the gas and increased the distance between them.

“Hey,” Hot Rod called. “Get back here.” 

“No,” the other mech retorted. “ _You_ catch _me_. If you _can_.”

“Oh, I can,” Hot Rod replied, “but don’t take my word on it.”

Hot Rod increased his speed, closing the gap between his front fender and the other car’s bumper. The newcomer was pretty fast, but Hot Rod had been racing these paths since he first came online, and the space between them kept shrinking.

Oh, yeah, Hot Rod was going to make this guy eat rubber. He felt a thrill racing through his circuits, setting his nerves alight. It felt so good to compete against someone…particularly someone actually fast enough to give him a challenge. His engine ached, and his shocks throbbed, but it would all be worth it when he left this showoff eating dust.

Hot Rod gunned it and tapped the other vehicle’s rear bumper, causing his opponent to fishtail. While the other guy tried to bring his back end under control, Hot Rod pulled level with him.

Just in time to notice the faction insignia on the other mech’s hind end as he passed.

 _Decepticon_.

Hot Rod’s fuel ran cold. He’d never imagined that his playmate might be an enemy. If this guy was a Con, why hadn’t he shot at Hot Rod on sight, or transformed and challenged him to hand-to-hand combat? Why play games?

Maybe the Con was enjoying the race as much as he was.

Hot Rod wasn’t sure what he should do next. It didn’t seem like a very Autobot thing to do to haul off, transform, and start shooting at the guy, not when the Decepticon hadn’t attacked him. On the other hand, he didn’t want to drive headlong into a trap, either. Hot Rod slowed down, thinking.

The Decepticon noticed that Hot Rod was falling behind. “Hey, what’s the matter?” the stranger asked. “You losing your nerve?”

Hot Rod’s temper flared. “I’m not scared of you.”

Much to his surprise, the Decepticon also slowed down. Moments later, they were driving side by side again. “Then why so poky, hot stuff?”

“I didn’t know Decepticons knew how to do anything but pick fights.”

“I don’t need my fists to prove you’re a loser, loser.”

“We’ll just see who’s the loser.” Rodimus pulled ahead.

“Loser’s the last one past the Nyon city limits.” The Decepticon didn’t wait for Rodimus to agree before accelerating.

“Hey,” Hot Rod called out.

The other vehicle ignored him.

“ _Hey_ ,” Hot Rod insisted, gunning his engine to pull alongside the other vehicle again. “I want to ask you something.”

“Gotta catch me first.” With that, the Decepticon’s engine screamed, as though he’d given it a shot of nitrous. Hot Rod kicked his own engine into the red, and together the two speedsters screamed neck and neck towards the outskirts of Nyon.

#

The Decepticon was fast, Hot Rod would give him that. The grey car charged down the road like a mad thing, heedless of deep ditches or unkept bridges, utterly without fear. The only reason Hot Rod crossed over the Nyon city limit line half a car length in front of the Decepticon was because Hot Rod knew these roads so well. Hot Rod had took the final curve at speed, while the Decepticon had needed to slow down to gauge the turn. 

Now they coasted, still side by side, their overworked engines throbbing. At last, Hot Rod transformed. The Decepticon, not to be outdone, changed shape as soon as he saw Hot Rod converting to robot mode.

“There,” Hot Rod panted. “I won. Now you have to answer my question.”

The Decepticon watched him with wary optics. He was a good looking mech, or would’ve been if not for the excessively sharp ornamentation on his helm and the icy, suspicious look in his optics. 

“What’s your name?” 

The other mech narrowed his gaze. For a moment, Hot Rod felt as though he might be attacked. Or perhaps the other mech would dare Hot Rod to beat the answer out of him, if he could. 

But then the Decepticon spoke, and when his lips moved, Hot Rod saw a flash of fang.

“It’s Deadlock.”

#

Hot Rod sat on Winner’s Rock to the left of the old Nyon City Limits sign, legs dangling over the side, waiting. He’d been idling about for the better part of a day, with no sign of Deadlock.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. There was a war on, after all. The Decepticon probably had obligations to his own faction. Primus knew Hot Rod had been kept busy these last few months. 

But not so busy that he couldn’t sneak out here from time to time to take on Deadlock in the occasional drag race.

Well, maybe some other time. Hot Rod jumped down off the rock, stretching his limbs before transforming. He looked back over his shoulder one more time, and that’s when he saw it: a message painted on the side of the rock. Decepticon graffiti.

_Hey Autobot_

_If You’re Dead_

_I Win, Forever_

Hot Rod smiled.

He didn’t have any paint with him, so he used his laser to carefully inscribe a reply.

_You’re Not That Lucky_

Laughing, Hot Rod took off, wishing he could see his adversary’s face when his message was discovered.

#

Fighting all over Cybertron, fighting off-world, back to Cybertron again. A million years passed, then a million more. Still, from time to time, Hot Rod and Deadlock crossed paths in places with open road and plenty of room to race.

Hot Rod was always ready to reach for his gun if he needed it. The Decepticon had guns of his own, and he knew how to use them. When it was just the two of them, though, there was no need for guns. They knew how to settle things between them using their wheels.

The loser answered a question asked by the winner.

After all this time Hot Rod thought he knew Deadlock pretty well. Better, even, than many of his fellow Autobots. And though he’d been reluctant to offer the Decepticon any information about himself, well, a loss was a loss. Hot Rod always answered the Con’s questions honestly.

It was strange how the two of them were mortal enemies and yet often Hot Rod thought fondly of Deadlock, as though they were somehow also friends.

#

Hot Rod liked to consider himself an optimist, but things weren’t looking good for the Autobots. Megatron was victorious on Earth, and the Insecticon Swarm ruled a crumbling Cybertron. The Autobot position was precarious at best. Dark thoughts chewed at the corners of Hot Rod’s mind.

Had the sacrifice of Nyon—had everything he’d done in the eons since—really meant nothing? Was this the end of the Autobots?

If he saw Deadlock now, would they race as they had always done, or would the Decepticon finally attack Hot Rod like the enemy he was?

Or…worse…would Hot Rod attack first, unable to maintain their unspoken truce in the face of his faction’s immanent defeat?

Hot Rod tried not to give in to despair. He’d be of no help to his comrades if he broke down now. He refused to burden them with his personal problems. 

Still, he was desperate for a distraction, any distraction, so when he heard that Kup had returned with the Wreckers and brought a new ally with them, Hot Rod decided he’d go introduce himself. He’d made good Wrecker material, wouldn’t he? He was a born hero. And what was the newest Wrecker like?

 _Ex-Decepticon_ , the rumours said.

 _Thug_ , they said.

 _Killer_ , they said. _A new badge doesn’t change anything._

The Wreckers’ new comrade didn’t seem very well-liked by the Autobots, and given how desperate the faction was, that was saying something. It seemed to Hot Rod that most of the Autobots would rather be a mech down than accept Kup’s new associate. 

Hot Rod didn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t as though the Wreckers hadn’t had their share of shady members: Whirl, for example, and Hot Rod was pretty sure that Ruin, or Rack, or maybe both, had once had Decepticon affiliations. Impactor had never been known as a model of stability and restraint either, come to think of it. If anyone could tame an ex-Decepticon, it was the Wreckers.

Hot Rod couldn’t find the new guy anywhere. Finally he asked Springer where to find the ex-Decepticon. Springer jerked a thumb to the door, indicating outside.

Hot Rod stepped out. A few paces away, a solitary figure sat on a rock, his feet swinging, staring out at the distant horizon. The newest Wrecker was white as death, with a huge sword mounted on his back and a pair of smaller blades on his hips. He didn’t look like the sort of mech Hot Rod wanted to sneak up on, not even by accident.

“Hey,” Hot Rod said, announcing his presence as he approached.

There was something about the newcomer that seemed familiar. His silhouette wasn’t triggering any memories, but Cybertronians rebuilt themselves so often that shape itself meant little. Hot Rod looked for familiar distinguishing features—there was something about those twin head finials, for example, and the way he idled on the rock was hauntingly familiar. Hot Rod felt as though he were on the verge of recognition when the newcomer turned to face him.

“Hot Rod,” the white speedster said, his optics brightening.

“It’s you,” Hot Rod said, feeling a giddy laugh welling up in his throat. “Deadl…”

The speedster cut him off. “It’s Drift now.” He smiled, and it was the same crooked grin that Hot Rod remembered. “You, ah….you wanna race?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod grinned, feeling as though there was perhaps still a few good things left in the universe. “Loser answers the winner’s question?”

Deadlock—Drift—chuckled. “Loser buys the _energon_.”

“You’re _on_.” Hot Rod transformed, and Drift was right behind him.

For a brief moment, Hot Rod wondered what Drift was racing to escape, and whether he heard the same mantra underneath his wheels: _a hero or a killer, a hero or a killer_. But then the highway spooled out ahead of him, and Drift tucked in tight against his side, and Hot Rod let go of the shadows in his thoughts in favour of racing his new old friend down the neverending road to glory.


End file.
